High Tide

Some time ago we had a basement flat, which flooded, twice. It was not a pleasant experience and it left us living in a house that we felt quite vulnerable in, especially during thunderstorms. Can we ever secure ourselves from vulnerability though?

High Tide

On the wall outside, it is there still,
The grey slick of the water line.
Midnight of that summer night
It rose to chalk its personal best
And then slip away by morning.
We found a ghost flat. The plaster hacked
Back, the brickwork gawking in the hall
And all achievements picked up beyond
The tide-line and thrown into a heap.

We creep back though. We paint across the lines
With bold emulsion paints that hide
Our fear, and eat from rough-shaped tables
That should float. We place our sacred books
On higher shelves and then our souls
And then the hope within our fragile selves.

Then, at the top, I scrape back ancient dust
And find a higher line from some dark summer
Back in time, and wonder who to trust.